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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22770361">Over the Emptiness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey/pseuds/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey'>aintgonnaleaveyoumikey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Grand Theft Auto IV, Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Getting Together, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, canon-typical use of alcohol, short and fluffy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:35:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22770361</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey/pseuds/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Then Packie asks if he likes poetry. Fucking poetry.</p><p>Niko can’t even remember any of the nursery rhymes his mother used to sing to him and his brother.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Niko Bellic/Packie McReary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Over the Emptiness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BartyMellvue/gifts">BartyMellvue</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time they go drinking together, they get so drunk that they can barely stand. Packie sways and leans against him, and Niko can feel his heart skip a beat when Packie gets so close to him. Then Packie asks if he likes <em> poetry</em>. Fucking <em> poetry</em>.</p><p>Niko can’t even remember any of the nursery rhymes his mother used to sing to him and his brother, so he starts joking to avoid thinking how sad it is that he has become so alienated from his country, his culture.</p><p>But the next time he is checking his emails at an internet café, he hesitates and then writes <em> Srpska poezija </em>on Eyefind. He studies it for a moment, reads about all the things he never had the opportunity or the patience to learn in school. He skims over the part about the war’s effects on Serbian poetry and pauses to think.</p><p>He feels stupid, but he goes through a few poems, pre-war, until he finds one that Packie might like. He asks Alejandra for a piece of paper, she hands it over with a wink. “Are you finally gonna give me your phone number, Niko?” She asks and Niko laughs, tells her “maybe later”, goes back to the computer and writes down a poem in Serbian and the translation to English.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The next time they go drinking together, Niko decides to be brave.</p><p>The back alley on the way to Niko’s car is empty apart from them, and Niko can faintly hear the music from the bar. Packie is yet again leaning against him, his hand slung over Niko’s shoulder. Niko’s holding Packie’s waist tightly, nervously.</p><p>“I am so pissed,” Packie laughs. They take a few more steps and then Packie stumbles towards a wall. Niko can’t help but follow him, and they crash against the brickwall hard. Packie yelps, then keeps laughing. Niko curses with a smile on his lips and guides Packie to lean against the wall, lets go from his waist and moves next to him.</p><p>“Why are walls so hard, that fucking hurt me arm,” Packie complains.<br/>
Niko just smiles and searches for the piece of paper in his pocket. He has to act before he chickens out.</p><p>“Hey, Packie. I have something for you. You said you liked poetry…”<br/>
“Oh, I fucking <em> love </em>poetry, it’s the Irish blood…”<br/>
“Yes, you told me this last time,” Niko smiles. “I found you a Serbian poem. I can’t recite shit but I write it down. For you.” He glances at Packie. Packie beams at him and he tries to stop his hands from shaking.<br/>
“Fuck, yes, Niko boy, let’s do it,” Packie encourages him.</p><p>He faces Packie, clears his throat, looks at the paper and reads.<br/>
“<em>Ne postoji nebo koje je plavo, to je samo eksplozija našeg iznenađenja, nad prazninom.</em>”<br/>
Packie stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open. Niko feels himself blushing.</p><p>“Please don’t tell me that you just read me like, your shopping list or something,” Packie breathes and Niko laughs, again. He does that a lot with Packie.<br/>
“No, no. It means…” He looks at the paper again. “<em>There isn't such a thing as the blue sky, it is only explosion of our surprise, over the emptiness. </em>It’s by Branko Miljković.”<br/>
“Fuck me, that’s beautiful,” Packie says in his usual way, but more breathless.<br/>
“Okay.” Niko blurts out before he can think to stop himself. Packie looks at him, surprised.<br/>
“Okay?”<br/>
“Okay. If you are asking. You ask me that a lot.”</p><p>They stand quietly for a while, Packie looking at his face intently.<br/>
“You serious, Niko? I thought you liked Kate.”<br/>
“Kate is… nice. A good friend.” <br/>
“I see. You wouldn’t, uh, read poems to her?”<br/>
Niko laughs. “I don’t think I would.” </p><p>“Okay.” Packie nods and puts his hand on the side of Niko’s neck. He glances at Niko’s lips.<br/>
“Okay,” Niko whispers, but freezes. He has no idea what to do next, but Packie grins and pulls Niko against him. Their lips crash together and Niko accidentally crumples the piece of paper in his hand before he puts it in his pocket, and his hands find Packie’s hips.</p><p>They kiss and kiss and kiss, their hands exploring each other’s bodies, and when Niko has to pull away to breathe, Packie clears his throat and smiles.</p><p>“So let me get this clear, you were just trying to get into my pants by reading me poems?”<br/>
“No! Well, I don’t know. I didn’t think it would be this easy,” Niko says, feeling a bit embarrassed.<br/>
“So now you’re calling me easy? You’re a real charmer, Niko boy. You better take me somewhere before I show you just how easy I am,” Packie murmured.</p><p>Niko did like to do what he was told.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote this in like two hours yesterday after hearing a particular drunken conversation between Niko and Packie. Like Niko, I didn't know anything about Serbian poetry, but when I was googl- I mean doing an Eyefind search, I fell in love with Branko Miljković, "The Prince of Serbian poetry". The poem featured in the fic is called Nebo (The Sky).</p><p>I want to gift this fic to BartyMellvue as a way to say thank you: I was stuck on playing IV because the beginning of the story was a bit slow for my taste, and without his enthusiasm for the game (and this ship) I might not have continued playing it! Once the story got started, I fell for it and many of the characters so hard, and I really recommend it to everyone! I'm still not finished with it, so please don't spoil me, I just wanted to publish this fluffy silly thing right away.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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